Chuck VS the Boyfriend Syndrome
by itsalrightokay
Summary: Is John Casey capable of asking for help or will he hide it all from his friends until it's too late? Some S3 spoilers. Poison, alcohol, Charah, and someone named Jayne. Check it out.
1. Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE**.

"General, I apologize but I don't understand what you're asking me to do." Morgan Grimes adjusted the corners of his vest absently as his eyes darted about the small janitorial closet with unease. A small cellphone was pressed against his left ear, reverberating with the crackling sound of distortion as he rocked back and forth on his heels anxiously. "I mean don't get me wrong. I'm stoked to finally have my first solo mission, but no offense – it just sounds a little, you know _cuck-oo_."

"There's nothing," Beckman's voice vanished as she seemed to hesitate at the choice of words given, "_cuck-oo_, as you say, about making sure that all of your assets are up to par, Agent Grimes."

"But why John Casey? I mean the guy is like a superhero when it comes to this stuff. I'm pretty sure he could take down an entire army with both hands tied behind his back and a bum knee. In fact, I'm fairly certain I saw a video on _Youtube_ of just that. It was dark and hard to tell but there were definitely Casey-like qualities to the guy that was kicking ass and taking names."

"What Agent Casey makes up for with brute force, he lacks a – shall we say – emotional perspective. While a tactical advisory, my concern is with Agent Casey's stubbornness and obvious pride. I need to know that if there ever comes a time that he can't handle his task that he will be able and willing to ask for help."

Morgan sighed. "I don't like it," he admitted softly after a moment's pause.

"To be honest, Agent Grimes. Neither do I. But unfortunately, it is a necessity."

"But, why me? Why can't Chuck do it?"

"Neither Agent Bartowski nor Agent Walker can know this is going on. Any hints they might give off during times spent in the field would ruin the process entirely. There needs to be no emotional or physical recognition on their parts while the test is taking place." Beckman hesitated. "Agent Grimes, this is a matter of _severe_ importance. I _need_ to know that Agent Casey can let himself lean on his team when the time comes. It could mean life or death for all of them."

"Fine," Morgan grunted, gazing out the closet's miniature window – watching as a throng of customers zoomed by. Taking a deep breath, he nodded. "Just tell me what I need to do."

* * *

**CHAPTER 1**.

"Chuck I need you to hurry it up," Sarah Walker urged, her legs flying in the air as she slammed her foot against a large man with tattoos covering his neck. In the background, John Casey was firing off bullets left and right as attackers swarmed all around him.

Chuck Bartowski frowned, teeth sinking against his lower lip in concentration. "I'm going as fast as I can," he shouted tensely. Before him was a mess of wires, colored every hue imaginable. And beneath those wires was a young woman, sobbing in hysterical silence as large black tears streamed down her face. Her arms were bleeding, red and raw from the wires that cut across them and dug into her skin. She was tiny, the size of a child, with a tangled mane of strawberry blond hair that swept down in ratty knots along the small of her back. Her bony legs trembled as Chuck stared in concentration. "Come on," he muttered to himself. "Come on. _Flash already_."

"You better not screw it up Bartowski," Casey shouted over the din of grunts and cries of pain as Sarah continued to deal out every punch in the handbook. "I'm too pretty to die today."

"Duly noted," Chuck called out sarcastically, his eyes still squinting as he watched the wires – willing his brain to flash.

And at long last, it came. The _flash_. A series of pictures and diagrams darted through his head. Bomb diffusing techniques – one on top of the other until he finally knew what he was to do. Confidence renewing his energy, he reached for the pair of wire cutters that sat at his feet. Clutching them firmly in his hand, he did exactly as the images in his brain had told him to.

"Did you get it yet?" Casey growled as a fist flew into his jaw.

"Yeah, I can't get her out though." Chuck scrambled about, trying to pull the nest of wires away from the girl but all he seemed to be doing was making it worse. They rubbed at her face and he watched as one sliced her cheek, blood gushing from the point of contact. "She's _stuck_."

A computerized voice rang over the loudspeaker. "_You have one minute until implosion_."

"You have to be _kidding_ me," Casey grumbled, as he delivered a final blow to the man at his side. "I thought you said you got it."

"I did! I flashed, I swear. I don't know what. . ." he trailed off as Casey rushed over beside him, immediately delving into the pile of wires, safely pulling the girl up into his grasp.

"I don't want to hear it Bartowski," he muttered.

"The Intersect must've been wrong," Chuck said frantically. The building was beginning to shake. He wasn't a fan of earthquakes to begin with, and this was like an earthquake magnified by a thousand.

The loudspeaker crackled again. "_Thirty seconds until implosion_."

"Yeah well we don't have time to fix it. Grab Walker and let's get the hell out of here." Resting a hand against the back the young girl's head – realizing that she had gone limp, he pressed her face closely against his shoulder. Blood seeped against his green Buy More shirt. "Hang on darlin'," he murmured. "We're gonna' get you outta' here."

"_Ten seconds until implosion_."

"_Casey_!" Sarah Walker called out. The ceiling was beginning to collapse. "_Run_!"

And so they did.

* * *

"General, I can explain." Chuck's face was pink with frustration.

"Agent Bartowski, I don't need an explanation. If the Intersect is malfunctioning then you need to either figure out how to be a spy without it or find the fix. I can't have you out in the field blowing all of my agents up," General Beckman scorned tartly from the large television screen that hung from the back wall of Castle, a secret CIA lair. "However, the most important thing is that you recovered the stolen property."

Chuck halted. "You _do_ realize that property is a human being, don't you General? A girl, to be specific."

"Either way," Beckman continued. "It's _your _job to find out what the Ring wanted with her."

"Good luck with that," Casey snorted, shaking his head. "Poor kid's in shock. She's not saying a damn thing. Just sits there and stares all sad like at the ceiling."

"Haven't you at least gotten a name?" Beckman questioned fervently.

"To be honest General, we don't think she knows her name," Sarah interjected, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she exchanged a glance with Chuck. "Whatever the Ring did to her – it seems to have messed her up pretty badly."

Beckman sighed. "Very well." Pausing, she pursed her lips. "Well, then, in the meantime she is under your care Agent Casey. Until she regains her memories or starts talking – she's to remain at your apartment with you and under your constant supervision. Whatever the Ring wanted from her, it must be pretty important. We need to find out what it was and we need to find out _soon_."

"Not to speak out of turn, General, but why can't the kid stay with Walker and Bartowski? I mean, at least one of them is female – _officially _that is, mind you. Although the other is pretty girly too if I do say so myself."

"_Hurtful_," Chuck muttered. "And rather uncalled for."

Beckman glared. "Because I _said_ she's staying with you. Therefore, she's _staying_ with _you_. Now, are we clear Agent Casey?"

"Yes m'am," Casey grunted, his gaze flickering over towards the large holding cell where the tiny blond girl sat cross legged atop the cement bed – her neck craned upwards as she seemed enraptured by whatever it was that might be above. "We're clear."


	2. Chapter 2

**CONTINUING**.

"Fine," Morgan grunted, gazing out the closet's miniature window – watching as a throng of customers zoomed by. Taking a deep breath, he nodded. "Just tell me what I need to do."

"You'll find a package behind the third locker from the left on the bottom row in the break room. Its contents are potent so please use caution when dealing with them. Any standard medical gloves should be fine."

"Now hang on – _potent_? As in, it could harm me as well?"

"Of course Agent Grimes." Beckman sounded agitated, her tone cutting through the phone's receiver coolly. "That's what makes it a _poison_."

* * *

**CHAPTER 2**.

"You guys _know_ I'm right."

"_Chuck_," Sarah Walker sighed. Lightly she placed her hand against her boyfriend's shoulder, allowing her fingers to gently squeeze with condolence. "There are more important things to be deciding on than a _name_ right now."

"That is, unless it's her _rea_l name, Bartowski," John Casey interjected. "Which would definitely help right about now." Shifting the weight of his feet, he stood hunched over a large system of computers and technological devices. They whirred and buzzed as numbers and words dashed across their screens, all seemingly unintelligible to the human eye. "I sent a picture around but I can't find her in any of the databases. It's like she doesn't exist."

"_Exactly_," Chuck cried out, his hands flying with his words. "A name is like an identity," he explained emphatically. " – without one, it's like we don't exist. And she _does _exist. I mean, she's right there." Pointing towards the couch where the frail young woman sat, a mug in hand as she stared absently into the distance, Chuck waved his fingers. His soft brown eyes darkened as he pursed his lips. "And to not have _any_ identity – to be _completely_ nameless? I can't even imagine how awful that must feel."

Casey rolled his eyes. "Spare me the theatrics, Bartowski."

"No, Chuck's right." Sarah nodded her head firmly, her teeth biting against her lower lip as she stared down at her hands. "We're so used to having more identities than we know what to do with that we forget what they actually mean to a person."

"_Speak for yourself_," Casey growled, eyes narrowing.

A bright grin pulling at the corners of her lips, Sarah turned towards Chuck – eyes alight. "_So_," she said softly. " – what should we call her?"

Chuck hesitated. "Well, we should just keep it simple – right? I mean, after all she should _eventually_ remember her real name."

"So then I guess calling her _Queen Latifah_ is out of the question?" Casey pandered with a suppressed smirk.

"How about we just call her Jane?" Sarah offered, surveying her surroundings with a neutral glance. "It _is_ the standard protocol for a woman without an identity."

"_Jane_." Chuck tested it out, watching the young woman as he said it over and over. "Jane. _Jane_." Frowning, he inhaled. "I like it," he said hesitantly, "but I think we should make it a little more special than just _Jane_."

"And just what do you propose all-knower of names?" Casey grunted.

"I don't know," Chuck shrugged. "Just give it some pizzazz or something. Make it a little more unique than just _Jane_," he mumbled, saying the word as though it had a bad taste.

"Well what if you spelled it with a '_y_'," Sarah said as she reached for a nearby pencil, quickly scratching out the word _Jayne _against the surface of the table. "Like that."

Chuck nodded with approval, brushing his dark mane of curls from his eyes. "_Perfec_t."

"I've gotta' say – you really outdid yourself this time Bartowski," Casey muttered.

"And how's that?"

"_Because_ – come on - _Jayne_?" Casey just snorted, shaking his head in disbelief as his thick arms wound themselves around one another, folding against his chest as he glared at both agents before him with a seething stare. "Now that's just the _stupidest_ name I've _ever_ heard."


End file.
